[INTERMISSION]
VENGIR:
The people of Eldenforve have carved their history into the stones of this land.
I'm Vengir, a blacksmith here in this proud fortress city. As I work at my forge, I think about the legacy we inherited from those before us.
Long ago, during the Great War, the northern lands were under attack by demons. The defenders needed a stronghold, and Eldenforve was built to meet that need. With towering walls and powerful defenses, it became an impenetrable fortress, protected by dwarven engineers and mages.
Eldenforve stood as a beacon of hope during the war, sheltering the brave warriors who fought to protect. After the war ended, the city evolved from a military stronghold into a Trade hub. It became a place to trade goods across the snow lands of Kingdom of Eldenforve.
Now, Eldenforve is a bustling city, with forges ringing, and corrupt knights.
RYAZANIA POV
Days turned into weeks as we got used to the daily life of the village.
One crisp morning, Fein returned from his investigation with a determined look in his eyes. "I found the source of the attacks," he announced. "There's a pack of dire wolves preying on the livestock. They're cunning and dangerous, but I believe we can drive them away."
The villagers expressed their concern. "Those wolves have been a menace for months," one of them said. "We've lost so much already. Can you really stop them?"
Fein's resolve was unwavering. "We can and we will. But we'll need everyone's cooperation. We need to set traps and prepare defenses around the village. Together, we can protect our home."
The village chief, Vangar, stepped forward, holding an old but sturdy sword. Its blade was slightly chipped, but its balance was perfect. He looked at me with a firm gaze. "This belonged to my daughter. She no longer needs it. But you do. Take it, Ryazania. Protect this village like she once did."
I accepted the sword with a quiet nod. The weight of it in my hand felt right.
With Fein's guidance, we worked tirelessly to fortify the village. Mal used his telepathy to coordinate our efforts. I helped to devise traps using natural materials and tested the balance of the sword Vangar had given me.
As night fell, we stood ready. Torches lined the perimeter. The villagers took up defensive positions. The howls of the dire wolves echoed in the distance, low and guttural, growing louder with every minute.
Then we saw them. Dozens of eyes gleamed at the edge of the treeline. The first wolf stepped forward, followed by others, sleek, massive, and snarling.
But then something else emerged.
A towering, mutated dire wolf, larger than a horse, its fur patchy and burned, its eyes glowing red with unnatural rage. Scars covered its body, and its fangs were stained dark with old blood. It snarled orders to the pack, a deep rumble that chilled the air.
Fein narrowed his eyes. "That one's no ordinary beast. It's controlling the others."
With a swift signal, the traps sprang to life; spikes hidden beneath the grass impaled the first wave, nets dropped from the trees, and wooden stakes flew from makeshift ballistas. The pack thrashed and howled, but they kept pushing forward, relentless.
Fein dashed into the chaos, his blade a blur. He dodged lunges and tore into the wolves with brutal precision. Blood splattered across the grass as he severed limbs and crushed skulls.
I charged into battle beside him, Vangar's sword slicing through thick fur and flesh. A wolf lunged at me, its jaws wide, but I twisted and drove the blade through its side. Another came at me from behind...I spun and kicked it back, my blade following with a brutal downward strike.
Mal stayed near the villagers, his eyes glowing faintly as he kept us all linked. I could feel his thoughts guiding us, warning us. Behind him, the wounded were pulled to safety. He muttered incantations and healed deep gashes in moments, keeping us in the fight.
The mutated dire wolf leapt into the village center, crushing a stone bench beneath its weight. It let out a roar that shook the earth. Its pack rallied, fighting harder.
Fein rushed it, his blade meeting the monster's claws. Sparks flew. The wolf slashed, knocking Fein into a cart. He groaned but rose again, eyes locked on the beast.
I joined him. We moved as one, dodging, striking, keeping it off balance. The wolf caught me with a swipe that knocked the wind from my lungs. My ribs ached. Blood ran down my arm.
Fein distracted it again, driving his sword into its side. I found an opening and drove Vangar's sword deep into the wolf's throat. It howled, blood pouring from its jaws.
Still, it fought.
Then Mal appeared behind it, whispering a spell. Dark vines of dark energy erupted from the earth, binding the monster's legs.
"Now!" he shouted.
Fein and I struck it together. Two blades, one heart. The beast collapsed with a final, strangled snarl.
Silence followed.
Then cheers erupted from the villagers, their voices breaking the night. The threat was over. Bloodied, bruised, but alive, we stood together beneath the stars.
Elden was safe...for now.
In the aftermath of the battle, the village of Elden pulsed with new life. The air, once thick with fear, now carried the scent of bread baking and fresh earth. The dire wolf threat was gone. Livestock grazed calmly again. Laughter returned to the streets.
We stayed a few more days to help rebuild fences, patch roofs, and bury what needed burying. Then, one evening, Vangar called for us. His voice boomed through the large wooden house that served as his tavern, echoing beneath the high oak ceilings and sturdy beams.
The hearth crackled as we stepped inside. Warm firelight danced across the faces of villagers gathered there, sharing food, stories, and relief. Vangar waited at the center, arms crossed, his beard damp with sweat and soot.
"You've done more than keep your promise," he said, his deep voice calm but full of emotion. "You gave us more than safety. You gave us hope."
"Thank you for your generosity," I replied. "But we only did what we said we would."
Vangar chuckled. "Nonetheless, you brought life back to this place."
Mal, always curious, stepped forward. "Are there any cities nearby?"
Vangar nodded. "There's a city fortress not far from here. Eldenforve. Trade flows through it. Soldiers train there. It's where you'll want to be next."
Mal's eyes lit up. "Do you think we'll be able to stay there?"
Fein answered before anyone else could. "With what we've done? We'll be fine."
Vangar reached into his coat and pulled out a sealed letter. The wax bore his mark, a hammer crossed with an antler. He handed it to me.
"Give this to Vengir, a blacksmith in Eldenforve. Old friend of mine. He'll help you settle in."
We accepted the letter with a bow. That night, we packed our things in silence, each of us feeling the pull of the road again. Our time in Elden had changed us, but we weren't done yet.
The following morning, the villagers gathered at the edge of the village to see us off. There were smiles, a few tears, and quiet thanks. Some offered us dried fruits, bread, even knitted scarves to take on the road.
Then I felt a tug at my leg.
It was the boy with the blue hair and bright eyes, the same one who had watched the others play, too afraid to join. He wrapped his small arms around my leg in a sudden, silent hug. I paused, heart softening.
Kneeling down, I looked him in the eyes. "You're stronger than you think," I said gently.
He nodded, clutching the blue flower I had given him days ago.
"I'll practice my breathing. And maybe… maybe I'll run next time," he whispered.
I smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be proud of you, wherever I am."
With a final squeeze, he let go, stepping back into the crowd.
Mal folded his cloak neatly. "Our next destination is Eldenforve."
Fein, adjusting the straps on his sword, smiled. "Eldenforve it is."
As we turned toward the open road, the villagers waved, their voices fading behind us. The morning sun rose over Elden, warm and golden, lighting our path forward.
And though we walked away, a part of us stayed behind, rooted in that small village we helped protect, where hope had bloomed once more.
______
With the information we gathered from the village and the letter from Vangar in hand, we set out for Eldenforve.
A mighty fortress city nestled deep in the frozen expanse of the north. As we journeyed closer, the air grew colder, the wind slicing through our cloaks like blades. But even the biting chill couldn't quell the fire in our hearts.
The walls of Eldenforve soon came into view, towering stone ramparts crowned with sharp battlements. Guards paced along the top, their armor glinting faintly under the overcast sky. The city's defenses were imposing, a testament fifty years of war and preparation. Even from afar, Eldenforve radiated strength.
Fein squinted at the walls and grunted, his breath misting in the cold. "Not exactly a warm welcome, is it?"
Mal smiled faintly, tucking his cloak tighter around himself. "We're not here for comfort. We're here for opportunity."
"I just hope that letter gets us more than a broom closet," I muttered.
When we arrived at the gates, the guards eyed us with suspicion. Their hands hovered near their weapons, and their expressions betrayed a deep-rooted mistrust of outsiders. Fein's fists clenched, his jaw tightening.
"Hey! We're just travelers," Fein snapped, stepping forward.
One of the guards narrowed his eyes. "Plenty of trouble comes in the form of travelers."
"Fein," Mal said calmly, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, "let me." He turned to the guard, offering a respectful nod. "We're here under the recommendation of Vangar from Elden. We carry a letter addressed to a local blacksmith named Vengir."
There was a tense pause, but finally, the guard gestured for the gate to be opened. "Stay out of trouble. This city has little tolerance for it."
Inside, Eldenforve bustled with life. Despite the cold, the streets were full. Merchants hawked wares wrapped in fur and wool. Blacksmiths toiled at their forges, steam and sparks dancing in the air. Hunters passed by with fresh kills strapped to their backs. Children ran through the stone corridors, playing in the snow-dusted courtyards. There was life here, hard but enduring.
Fein looked around with wide eyes. "This place is massive."
"It's beautiful," I said, marveling at the intricate architecture. "Cold, but beautiful."
Mal stopped a merchant and politely asked, "Excuse me, do you know where we can find Vengir the blacksmith?"
The merchant, a wiry man with a frost-covered beard, nodded. "Aye, Vengir's forge is up in the northern quarter. I'm heading that way, if you'd like to follow."
We exchanged glances and followed him, winding through alleys and climbing frost-slicked steps until we reached a sturdy stone building with smoke curling from its chimney and the unmistakable clang of metal ringing in the air.
Vengir was at the forge, hammering a red-hot blade. His arms were thick with muscle, and his braided beard bounced with each swing.
"Excuse me!" Fein called out.
The dwarf paused, looking up with narrowed eyes. "Aye?"
"We're looking for a place to stay," Mal said, stepping forward. "Vangar sent us."
I offered the sealed letter, and Vengir wiped his hand on his apron before accepting it. He opened it and read quickly, then looked us over.
"So, you're the ones he spoke of," Vengir muttered. "You've got the look of wanderers. I've got space, but I need help in return."
"What kind of help?" I asked.
"My wife, Elara. She's been ill for weeks. The city healers are stumped."
"I'm no ordinary healer," Mal said confidently. "Let me see her."
Vengir nodded and ushered us inside. The warmth of the forge faded as we entered a quieter, modest space, but homey.
Elara lay on a cot, her breathing shallow. Her skin had a pale bluish tint.
Mal knelt beside her and took her hand. "Her energy is weak… there's a toxin in her blood. Something bit her. I can help, but it will take time."
Vengir's face softened with emotion. "Do whatever you must. If you save her, my home is yours."
Over the next few days, we fell into a new routine. Mal stayed close to Elara, using his abilities to draw out the poison, easing her pain with his gentle words and telepathy. Fein and I worked with Vengir, helping him forge blades and tools, and running errands across the city.
One evening, as we sat near the hearth, Vengir poured mugs of warmed cider and handed them out.
"You three don't seem like the average drifters," he said, eyeing us carefully. "What's your story?"
Fein shrugged. "It's complicated."
"We've seen more than we ever expected," I added, sipping from the mug. "And there's still more to come."
Vengir nodded, staring into the fire. "Eldenforve's seen its share of warriors. But if you're the kind who protect instead of destroy… you'll find allies here."
"Thank you," Mal said. "Once Elara recovers, we'll help however we can."
Vengir gave a tired smile. "You're already helping. That means more than you know."
A few days later, Elara opened her eyes, whispering Vengir's name. The dwarf dropped to his knees beside her, clutching her hand and weeping openly.
"You came back to me," he whispered.
Mal stood behind him, quietly satisfied.
As Elara and Vengir embraced, their eyes brimming with relief and joy, Ryazania stood off to the side, watching them with a quiet sadness.
The sight of their reunion stirred memories of her own parents.
She had been brought to this world against her will, and she couldn't help but wonder if her cousin had been forced into his fate as well, considering the strange circumstances of his disappearance.
With a heavy heart, Ryazania turned and walked out of the room; her thoughts clouded. The couple's reunion felt distant. She needed to clear her mind.
Fein noticed Ryazania's departure and decided to follow her, keeping a respectful distance. The door shut behind her with a soft thud as she stepped into the cold. Moments later, Fein slipped out as well, quiet and watchful. Meanwhile, Mal remained behind, offering his congratulations to Vengir and Elara on her recovery.
Inside, Mal lingered near the hearth, the warmth of the fire dancing across the room. Elara had fallen into a gentle, healing sleep in the next room. Vengir stood by the window, watching the snowfall, arms crossed.
"Vengir," Mal said calmly, his voice low but firm.
The dwarf turned, brow furrowed. "What is it?"
"I've been working with Elara for days now. I've seen her symptoms… and I need to tell you the truth. She wasn't sick."
Vengir blinked. "What do you mean?"
Mal stepped closer, lowering his voice. "She was poisoned. A magical toxin. Slow, precise. Meant to be overlooked by anyone without the proper training."
The blacksmith's expression shifted from confusion to disbelief, then to something darker. "Poisoned? You're serious."
"I wouldn't say it if I weren't sure." Mal's eyes locked with his. "Someone did this to her. Intentionally."
Vengir's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. "Are you saying someone here tried to kill my wife?"
"I'm saying someone targeted her," Mal replied. "And I need to ask. Do you have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt you through her?"
Vengir took a step back, running a hand through his thick beard. "Damn. There was a man. A southerner, passed through the city a while back. Wanted enchanted blades, claimed it was for defense, but I knew better. Slavers. He offered gold. I refused."
"And?"
"He said I'd pay for the insult. I thought it was just anger talking. Didn't see him again."
Mal nodded slowly. "Then he might have made good on his word. If he couldn't get to you, Elara would have been the next best target."
Vengir turned away, his voice strained. "If he's still out there… I swear on my forge…"
"We'll find him," Mal said gently. "But for now, Elara's healing. I've placed protective wards around her. Nothing magical will reach her again."
The dwarf was quiet for a moment, then looked over his shoulder. "Thank you, Mal. I don't know what would have happened if you three hadn't come when you did."
"We were meant to be here," Mal said with a faint smile. "And we're not leaving until she's safe."
Outside, Ryazania moved through the bustling streets of Eldenforve, her footsteps quick and purposeful. She went straight to a merchant selling paper, using the money given to them by Vandar; she bought stacks of it without a word. The rustle of the parchment as it piled up in her arms almost drowned out her thoughts, but it didn't stop the nagging feeling deep within her.
Fein stayed close, curious but silent, wondering what was on her mind.
She made her way to a small shop tucked between two towering stone buildings [Pen and Hammer]; the sign read, swinging gently in the cold wind.
Fein followed quietly, keeping to the shadows. His cloak blended with the snow-dusted rooftops, and his eyes shimmered faintly with dark energy, enhancing his vision tenfold as he watched her every move from above.
Ryazania entered the shop, her arms still full of paper. The warmth inside was a welcome change, but her face remained hard, focused.
"Hello, can I have a pen and ink?" she asked, her tone sharp.
The shopkeeper blinked in confusion. "A pen?"
She sighed, catching herself. "A quill. I meant a quill and ink, please."
The shopkeeper nodded and handed her what she needed. She gave a quick thanks, left a few coins on the counter, and hurried back out into the street.
Not far from there, she found a bakery with a quiet corner. The scent of warm bread and cinnamon filled the air, but Ryazania didn't stop to admire it. She sat down at a marbled table near the window, her back to the world.
She laid out the paper, dipped the quill in ink, and began to write. Notes, theories, fragments of thoughts. Her handwriting was fast, yet deliberate. Then, slowly, her strokes shifted lines forming curves and edges, shadows and shapes until a familiar face began to take shape. Her cousin's. The one she hadn't seen in so long.
From above, Fein watched silently, his enhanced sight capturing every detail. He didn't interfere. He just stood there, cloaked in shadow.
_____
Later that evening, Ryazania returned to Vengir's home, a slight chill still clinging to her cloak. Her thoughts were swirling, memories of her cousin, of the world she came from, and the burden she now carried.
Vengir was by the hearth, sharpening a blade while Elara rested nearby, her color slowly returning with each passing day. Mal sat beside her, gently speaking to her in hushed, soothing tones.
Ryazania approached Vengir, clearing her throat.
"Hey, Vengir," she said, tapping her fingers against her rolled up paper, "is there… a printing press here in Eldenforve?"
Vengir blinked, confused. "A what now?"
"A printing press," she repeated, gesturing vaguely in the air. "It's a machine that copies text and drawings fast. You use metal or wood to press inked letters onto paper. Mass printing."
He scratched his head beneath his thick beard. "Huh. Never heard of such a thing. Sounds like magic."
"It's not," she said, a little too quickly. "It's just… engineering. Mechanics. Pressure and ink." She sighed, frustration creeping into her voice. "It could change everything. Knowledge, communication, preserving history."
Vengir frowned thoughtfully, setting the blade down. "Sounds like a mighty fine idea, lass. But no one's built anything like that here. Not even the finest forgemasters."
Ryazania clenched her jaw, then let out a deep breath. "Right. Of course not. Sorry. It's been a long day. I'll just," she waved the rolled up paper, "call it a night."
She turned to go, but Vengir watched her closely, curiosity sparked behind his eyes.
On the table where Ryazania had left her things, Elara reached for the portrait Ryazania had drawn earlier at the bakery. She held it up, eyebrows raising in admiration.
"Vengir… look at this."
He took the page and stared at the lifelike image of a young man, sharp eyes, wild hair, a quiet sadness in his expression. It was rendered with incredible detail, down to the texture of his cloak and the glint in his eye.
"She drew this?" he asked, glancing toward the doorway.
Mal smiled softly. "She's more talented than she lets on. Her handwriting, her sketches… they speak louder than words."
Vengir set the drawing down gently, a new idea quietly taking root in his mind. He pulled out a bit of parchment, grabbed a piece of charcoal, and began sketching something crude, a box with levers, gears, a place to set type.
He mumbled to himself, "If it's just pressure and ink…"
The next morning, he brought the plans to the trio.
"I thought on what you said, girl," Vengir grunted, holding up his sketch. "Printing press, aye? I might not know the full details, but I can try building it from scratch. Problem is, I'll need parts. Not just any parts. Rare metals, spring mechanisms, gears I don't have."
Fein raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. You want us to go find them?"
Vengir smirked. "Aye. Down in the old labyrinth. Forgotten ruins below Eldenforve. You help me get what I need, and I'll make your printing press real."
Ryazania stared at the sketch, her heart skipping a beat. "You'd really try to build it?"
"Girl, you've got a vision. And if that machine can help you with this," he tapped the portrait, "then it's worth trying."
Mal placed a hand on her shoulder. "Looks like we have a new quest."
Fein cracked his knuckles. "Time to get lost in a labyrinth. Great."
Ryazania smiled faintly, hope stirring once more.